Help Me, I’m Dying
I’m Sorry, Mrs. P
She died at 11:01 am on a cold, gloomy rainy Wednesday. At 77 years old, she was still too young. I had five patients that day and was on my third consecutive twelve-hour shift. It goes without saying, I was exhausted.
Mrs. P had metastatic breast cancer. During this admission, the doctors discovered it had spread extensively to her liver, pancreas, and her bones, at a shocking rate. She lost her ability to walk and had so much pain.
Her doctors were out of treatment options and she, herself was tired of fighting. Her three daughters wanted treatment to continue. Words like “more radiotherapy”, and “what about immunotherapy”, but her body was screaming out in anguish otherwise. I was the primary nurse for Mrs. P all three days that week.
On Monday, she could no longer feed herself or turn herself. To safely sit her on the commode, we needed three staff members to help move her that day. Her blood reports were erratic compared to the gradual increases observed in previous weeks. Looking at her liver profile, you could tell her body was starting to shut down.
On Tuesday, Mrs. P could no longer express her pain verbally and was no longer eating. The doctors had a family meeting that morning with her daughters and explained the severity of her condition. That same morning, I started…
